


brianstorm

by Allti, tommyinnit



Series: I haven't got my strange [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: 1990s, Gryffindor!Badboyhalo, Gryffindor!Finn, Gryffindor!Zak, Harry Potter AU, Loosely Follows Canon, Mostly Techno's, Ravenclaw!George, Ravenclaw!Sapnap, Ravenclaw!Technoblade, Separate POVs, Will update tags, hufflepuff!wilbur, no child abuse, platonic, ravenclaw!philza, slytherin!dream, you're a wizard skeppy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allti/pseuds/Allti, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommyinnit/pseuds/tommyinnit
Summary: a ravenclaw who excels in cerebral pursuits, a deceptively princely hufflepuff whose chaos puts the marauders to shame, a slytherin who watches from the walls, and an annoyingly loud gryffindor walks into hogwarts. it doesn't end up well.
Relationships: no shipping in this house
Series: I haven't got my strange [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908322
Comments: 39
Kudos: 447





	1. top marks for not trying

**Author's Note:**

> so this is currently being rewritten !! (with a friend; they're super duper duper cool and i love them to bits!!)

It’s the 1st of September, 1991.

King’s Cross was hauntingly huge, and so was the steam locomotive he was soon to board. White clouds cascaded upon the faceless masses, which juxtaposed the looming clouds far above, soot grey and threatening to storm hell through the medium of howling winds. It’s the busiest day of the year for the petite Platform 9¾, for it’s the mass exodus of children from their parent’s brooding nests, with Techno being no exception.

Techno had just departed with his family dearest with a chaste peck on his check and his nerves frayed and in knots, and an intense loneliness that punctured and twisted in his gut. It’s a completely new experience, and he’s been throttled around by the disorientating technicolour of luggage rolling around, incessant palaver from parents admonishing of trouble, and a new environment that throws the boy for a loop. The only real constants that Techno anchors on to are his crown pin, and the glasses he was currently cleaning with the tail end of his t-shirt.

There’s still some time left before they’re hauled onto the Hogwarts Express, and having nothing else to do but wait, he surveyed the brimming crowd. He spotted worried mothers planting numerous kisses on their snot-faced progeny, sons waving with melancholy as they part from an embrace, and kids with rose-red cheeks and sore eyes who had nobody to bid them farewell; uncommon, but sadly, it happens. Not too far away, a blonde boy with bright blue eyes and face tacked with a myriad of bandaids waved goodbye to his brother, and though slight, Techno feels his heart warm over.

Soon enough, someone gave the okay to board the train and so Techno does, nestles close in his overcoat to combat the biting cold wind.

He’d fought tooth and nail to seize the first cabin close to the entrance, almost resulting in Techno exhibiting his ease with wandless magic and another student’s demise. It’s considerably smaller than and as cold as his personal bathroom, and Techno winced at the fact he’d have to spend close to a few hours doing nothing. It’s limbo, but they torture you. Silhouettes walk by his cabin door, and like a moth drawn to a flame, huddled close to the cold window. 

Within his new confines, a twinge of jealousy erupted in his gut. Truth be told, he’s a total introvert; the absolute caricature of a lone nerd-wolf, and shies away from most conversations, however, the lack of a defining human presence was eating his joy away. Without an anchor, it left much to be desired in the eleven year old and proper stability, but Techno presses on, expecting that nagging feeling to dissipate after he’s settled into the cabin.

And Techno would soon find out he’d be correct.

Company came bursting in the door like a meteorite, with curly brown hair barely tucked under a faded red beanie and a faux fur parka that obscured his unhealthily lanky stature, and heaved a loud sigh as he leaned against the cabin door. It’s the boy from earlier, now kidless and just as every bit nervous as Techno was. They’re in the same boat.

The kid glanced over his shoulder, and asked, “Erm - D’you mind if I join you?”

His tone is that of a summer afternoon, and a great disparity from the usual cold perfunctory tone often used to patronise him by other pure-bloods. Now closer, Techno could spot the day lilies undergoing florescence in his eyes, and he smiled like he invented being charming. Born a legilimens, he picks up on the sweet blossoms of geranium; he’s slightly nervous, but ultimately, he’s someone Techno can trust. A possible friend.

Techno averts his eyes to avoid the overwhelming scent of flowers that now pervades his every senses. “Nope.”

“Oh thank god.”

He hears a sigh from over his shoulder, and a loud thump, though it’s white noise as Techno directs his attention outside the cabin window. The view outside the window had been short of a milquetoast cerulean sky one would most befitting the student’s overture to their (most hopefully) nascent school life, dreary clouds stalking low as it’s caterwauls of incoming storm breach even the most air-tight of rooms. It’s romantically grim, the train’s fluorescent lights glow warm in the light abandoned weather, much like a Tenebrism painting.

As if God himself had grown tired of the romantic whimsy, the train hitched to interrupt his musing and flings the small boy upwards. However, it doesn’t faze his cabin companion in the slightest, who seems rather preoccupied with the view outside, but not enough to resist asking, “Are you excited to get there?”, placing a heavy emphasis on ‘there’ with his british lilt. The attempt to initiate a conversation was rather awkward, but was quickly amended with a small smile.

“Erm- Hogwarts? Yeah, I guess.” Techno fiddled with his crown pin under his coat to focus his attention onto the boy.

“I honestly can’t wait, dude. Feels like I’ve just been - like - transported into some storybook or whatever. I’m so excited!”

Like it wasn’t already clear enough. He’s jittery, and the stars cavort in his umber eyes, every limb in constant motion like he’d fall apart at the seams if he’d cease just once. Even a five year old on Christmas is less enthusiastic than him.

“Oh yeah, what’s your name, by the way?” He flicks his hand as if to dismiss a particularly annoying fly. “I kinda just went off on a tangent there.”

“Techno.”

“Oh- erm. That’s a … strange name. Your parents must be rather eccentric, huh?” Wilbur’s words shot through him like an arrow, and Techno felt his life deplete as he tried to further sugarcoat it with a tight smile. “I’m William, but you can call me Wilbur.”

More genuine than the last, Wilbur greets with a smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Techno.”

Techno extends his hand out. “The pleasure’s all mine, Wilbur.”

They shake hands and part with awkward silence. It’s stagnant and getting increasingly viscous by the minute, so Wilbur decides to aerate the silence with a mediocre conversational starter.

“To be honest, this whole magic thing’s really confusing. Like, a week ago, I’d be some random kid who daydreams a lot, and then some giant comes knocking at my door and now I’m a bloody wizard. Literal magic.”

Wilbur recounts it with a wide smile like the memory was unfolding itself right in front of him again, and red dusts his cheeks. Techno couldn’t exactly sympathise with the boy’s circumstances, but a few clever inferences informed him that it was most definitely riveting. Having your life turned upside down. Techno takes it in like a sip of hot chocolate.

To subdue the rising urge to burst his bubble on the banalities of magic, Techno tapped his thigh aggressively. Best not to make a bad impression regardless of who it is.

“Hmm. It’s cool, I suppose.”

It slid off his tongue more condescending than he’d hoped it be, and it galvanised the taller into a fervent speech impassioned with every waking flame. “What do you mean by ‘I suppose’ - it’s bloody brilliant! I don’t know about you but magic is just- God, I’m just bouncing with joy. Look at me! I’m no longer human; I’m just a tall ball of energy. My humanity has faded and in its place a pure form of energy!”

Colloquialism aside, Techno is taken aback by the sheer energy, and though already sitting down, needs to sit down to recuperate from the man’s stunning enthusiasm. His attention span was already screaming in agony, and the words were filtered heavily with a heavy gaussian blur. An audible blur.

“Ehh.. Wouldn’t that just be an oval, though? - And hold your hippogriffs, man. Calm-”

“-Wait, sorry. Excuse me.” Wilbur hoists his palm up onto eye level with Techno. “Hold my what?”

Techno raises his eyebrows. “Errr. Your hippogriffs? You know?”

“Excuse me for swearing - this is dire - but what the fuck is a Hippogriff?”

Techno erupted into unadulterated laughter, cackling like the absolute caricature of a witch muggles propagate among the muggle masses, and mirth blossoms in his giggles like wildflowers. It’s been quite some time since he’s laughed like this, and he truly misses it as it hiccuped into silence once more.

What’s longer was the first time he felt an affinity for someone, and an unrestrained desire to be their friend. His intolerance for friendship has led him to establish a compendium of what and how to avoid friendships or foster attachments for others, but Techno’s had enough of being a nerd and tosses it to the winds. Wilbur’s funny and seems pretty cool, and that’s better than a manual on deterring camaraderie.

Wiping a tear from his eyes, Techno explains. “It’s a beast. It’s got the head of an eagle and the body of a horse. Basically, Mother Nature got really bored one day and went _‘Hey! How can I make more lives miserable?’_ and created that thing.”

Wholehearted giggles fill the compartment with ease. “That's rather mean-spirited to say, Techno. Think about how upset their mothers would be hearing this. Shame on you, honestly. Shame on you.” Wilbur jokes, and is immediately greeted with a full bellied laugh from the opposite side.

“And they understand English. _Right._ ” Techno pushes his glasses up.

“Hippogriff is a funny name though. Looks like you’re not alone in this world.”

That’s a low blow right there. Techno raised an eyebrow and with sharp scrutiny, dissected the taller with a playful scowl. “Heh? Wait — what’s that supposed to mean?”

Wilbur beamed with innocence, and Techno swears to Merlin that behind that little aureole hid the devil’s horns. “What? Did I say something?”

“You said-”

Wilbur pointed out the window and announced his desultory observation, “Oh, look. It’s raining outside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha quality of work goes brrrrr !!
> 
> \- techno is a legilimens but we made his legilimens very different; he senses emotions through smell (which in this case smells like different flowers)  
> \- geranium smells like a more citric rose and symbolises friendship so like . yee  
> \- hippogriffs are easily offended. please do not insult their mothers.  
> \- wilbur is a half-blood and techno is a pure-blood!!


	2. so kind of you to bless us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dream dream dream dream (and skeppy)

It’d evolved from heavy howling to an unmerciful maelstrom that bites and sinks it’s fangs into the unsuspecting wild, blood bleeds bolts that form branches in the evening sky, twilight obscured behind grave clouds. Wildflowers and flora that stood proud and tall were now drowning in the flash flood of mud. The depressing rhythm of wheels steaming through water now gradual and sombre, which left the two confined inside their compartment with joy as a whistle further cemented the idea of a soon stop.

The train halts at a quaint train station, and sighs of relief echo throughout the halls.

The masses have been roused out of their cabins in a simple desperation to leave, faces pale and sickly like the dead. Children who emerged from the cabins, or a more fitting sobriquet, perdition, looked like they’ve aged a century, and Techno would’ve believed it if proven true. The reaper had parted ways with their throttled selves to tend to other matters, and Techno has never felt happier to have it’s spindly fingers release him from his grasp.

Romantic whimsy aside, the train ride left many nauseous, queasy and jittery, unfortunately not sparing Techno and Wilbur from the same treatment. It left a rather indifferent Techno topsy-turvy and taciturn from the numerous hitches in her stride, and being stuffed in a cabin with nothing else to entertain himself. The beginning of the trip had been relatively enjoyable, trading anecdotes and fun facts about one another, and playing muggle games to pass the time though it went downhill after “I Spy” left a bitter aftertaste. 

Hours later, they arrive at a quaint train station. Cue an exodus of the walking dead shimmying past one another in a tacit urgency to alight, and with enough time, they depart her cold embrace and into hails of rain. Someone with a husky voice shouts at them with a tone like they’ll break your kneecaps if you acted remotely out of line, and so they heeded their instructions, which was to hurry up.

Techno looks the same as he boarded. Cold, tired and lacking a will to live. Rain rolls off his newly donned cloak that’s sable black matches with the night sky, and his concerns lay somewhere else, which is a tree in the far distance.

Wilbur, on the other hand, was like a drowning man finding land. He closes his eyes and breathes in the air, silent content dusts his face rose red and calm. If he was bothered by the rain, his face showed no signs of it, so Techno resolves to casting a silent _Impervius_ to lend aid to Wilbur’s increasingly drenched coat. Wilbur probably had it the worst out of the two being so tall and all, and Techno had no intentions to figure out how sore his back must be.

It doesn’t go unnoticed however, and Wilbur raised an inquisitive look towards Techno, and probed him on his aptitude dealing with magic, to which Techno, as humbly as he could, brushed it off, discounting his skill with an example of those who practise witchcraft off in Africa. Wilbur, of course, did not let him evade any accolades and continued to shower him in it, to which Techno had to finally acquiesce.

They slowly approached the tail end of the crowd that was gathered at the end of the basking in the street doused in undisturbed . The storm that raged on throughout their ride had diminished to its former glory; heavy raindrops but zero the moxie. It was still a proper pain in the arse to trudge through with cabin fever. Techno found the walk rather tranquil despite the hassle of the onpour, breathing in the scent of fresh rain as the two ambled along the dimly illuminated pathway, costly leather boots storming through muddy dirt.

Wilbur points to the broad half-giant whose beard was so unscrupulously scraggly that Techno would’ve sworn birds lived in it, and his callused hands carry a spherical lantern massive enough to induce a nasty concussion and it hung precariously near a child’s head. He furrows his eyebrows with and it squirms like a fat caterpillar, and he purses his cracked lips. An uncomfortable twinge knots his stomach at the thought of that lantern unintentionally maiming someone, but Techno shrugs it away. 

Though heavily subdued under the drizzle, Wilbur suggested that they should follow him, and Techno refocuses from the swinging safety hazard back unto his new companion, backing up Wilbur’s axiomatic point. “It’s almost like he’s shouting for the first years to follow him very loudly.” 

“Shut up, Techno.” 

They followed the crowds of who he presumed to be other first years. Their excitement effervescences through the sea of obnoxiously loud children, and it’s all too loud for Techno to brush it off. Techno couldn’t help but roll his eyes ever so slightly at this. A silencing charm could do nicely in this situation, but as the saint he is, discarded it to fixate his attention on something else in the distance. Foliage, flora and combs of streetlights that corusfucated serenely in pitch black.

Cobblestone lined the paths, and thankfully so, or they’d been slipping over themselves like the road has been lubricated in oil. There’s a piercing absence of any wildlife but the light rain acts as the surrogate background noise for tonight. It’s oddly calming and familiar.

It’s only when Wilbur nudged him in the ribs had he realised that the flock of unruly children had gained a significant amount of distance on them, and he expresses his realisation in a tired sigh. Perhaps letting his attention wander off like a leashless mutt would be the death of him some day.

A quick estimation gave him about twenty metres before they’re even halfway close to them, and he groaned unceremoniously, “Heeh-? What a scam! They were here like- a second ago! When did they get there?”

“Wait, can you magic us there or something-? Like - I don’t know - teleport there?”

“Apparating?”

Techno would’ve considered it if he wasn’t the age of eleven, and severely lacked the skill too, and even then, he’d still probably shoot down that suggestion. It’s not an easy task, and apparating runs a high risk of becoming an unfortunate amputee to just catch up a few forty metres. Running sucks, but splinching and possibly winding up a bloody pulp on the pavement considerably sucks less, but that’s just Techno’s personal opinion regarding the matter. And he was pretty sure apparating doesn’t work on Hogwarts grounds due to stringent enchantments that were casted by the founders. “I mean think I can, but I’m not gonna, man. I’m not losing a few limbs just to teleport fifty metres - get outta here.” 

“Wait what do you mean lose a few limbs?”

“Splinching. So, when you try to apparate, there’s a high chance of you losing a random limb, and your head is not safe.”

“Jesus christ. Guess exercising is the only way. A shame, really.”

“As Sun Tzu said, ‘Move swift as the Wind and closely-formed as the Wood.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Eh. Nevermind.”

They leap across the soil pavement, discarding grace for haste unrivalled by the wind brushing against their disheveled hair, recklessly charging down the dark roadside with haphazard care that it’s a wonder that they’ve not slipped. There’s an decreasing deceleration in their speed as they clinch from exasperated grasps a few metres on them, and it’s a victory worth celebrating for the two unathletic kids.

Upon realising they’re out of breath, they stop to breathe, sparing a few light giggles which only serve to prolong their respiration. Mirth blossoms out of nowhere, and there had been an intrinsic feeling to just burst into merry laughter, an anomaly that Techno found hard to decode, but felt little need to as they began to dash towards the crowd.

Although now in the very back and heaving like a bunch of dogs on a hot day, they’re still able to hear the clipped end of Hagrid’s instruction; enter some boats and cross a damn lake

It comes off as romantically bewitching at first; to boat across an enigmatic black lake over to the looming castle before them seemed hopelessly enchanting, and the idea of slowly drifting to the primordial castle perched high on the rocky mountains like an emperor on a throne of pure gold only made his flair for the dramatics swell in joy. But after accounting for the two of them to be on a boat together with two other children? Hell no.

Wilbur points out the erumpent in the room, of course, stating in a desultory and as if he’d just been dared to jump off the tallest tower in Europe, “This doesn’t sound safe at all. Four kids on a boat does not seem like a good idea under any circumstances.” And he’d be right. It doesn’t sound good at all if not accounting for magic, that is.

Techno decides to banter a bit, and biting back his dubiety, he plasters an innocent smile onto his face. “Don’t worry about it, best friend. If we somehow capsize, I’ll live around thirty minutes more than the rest of you guys.”

“How comforting, Techno. You’ve really cheered me up there.” 

Techno hoists his arms up as if to surrender. “I’m just saying-!” 

A quick admonishment came in the form of a harsh baritone that made their sweat go cold, and the two looks up with sorry eyes at the half-giant. “Boys, quit bickering and get on the bloody boats.” 

“Sorry, sir.”

The half-giant lowly hummed in response, and waddling, cedes to the vacant vessel on the utmost right. Wilbur whispers something too hushed to be heard over and tugs on Techno’s robes, dragging them over to one of the last watercraft remaining, which were filled with 2 other first years. Not the choice Techno would’ve made, but since Wilbur did it, he supposed it’s decent.

Wilbur tilts his head down to the boat, politely offering for Techno to hop in first, which he does. It creaks under Techno’s steps, his heart sinking alongside the slight sink of the boat as he finds his way over to the corner of the boat where another first year has settled, currently admiring the mellow light that highlights the lake’s ripples. Techno takes a seat next to a boy with a distant gaze, who scoots away ever so slightly.

The other first year, short and with a wide grin, greets him with way too much pep. “Hello!” 

Warm lights from a lantern casts upon the shadow of a trickster unto the decrepit boat, and his smile is awfully reminiscent of a troublemaker. Rain pins his raven black hair close onto his forehead like gel. If not for his drenched hair, Techno would’ve noticed his lightning cicatrix light red that contrasts his lovely dark skin, a mark that even the ruthless Taken family turn subservient and polite - the mark of the chosen one.

His name is as clear as the lake, but Merlin knows he at least wants to establish a good connection with him, so best to play it cool lest he wants to come off as a social climber, and he spares the chosen one a cursory nod, though judging from the fierce contortions of his face, apparently a bad choice to do.

The other boy with flaxen hair and green eyes holds a loose grip on a looming lantern that’s luminance is more synonymous with a paper lantern at festivals than opposed to proper lighting, and it makes Techno even more sure of the journey's hazard. Having grown accustomed to the smell of money from an early age, Techno picks up on the boy’s family status like a seasoned bloodhound, and quickly identifies him to be a pureblood. The chosen one also reeks of money, but it smells like a mutt stumbling across a fortunate find of meat.

Wilbur uncharacteristically ignores the chosen one, and talks to the boy sat beside Techno.

“Hello. I’ve just been meaning to ask but where did you get your robes from? Yours is so- cool looking. And stuff.” 

At first, the boy seems despondent and taciturn, till his shoulder hitches up in realisation of who the recipient of the query had been: him. In a dream-like trance, he doesn’t answer, and is quite obviously taken aback. Techno could’ve easily answered the question; no where. Judging from the quality of the material, it’s high-class, so it’s probably a custom robe tailored just for him, same with Techno’s own robes.

“My family bought it for me.” His cadence screamed American, and the accent raised a few eyebrows from everyone else. Ilvermorny is highly reputed to be just as free as their country, so it made no sense one would have any desires to aim for Hogwarts, and how exactly he’d obtained the letter was a complete discrepancy in any knowledge of Hogwart’s enlistment rules Techno knew. “I suppose it’s nice.”

Wilbur doesn’t seem as bothered as the rest and hums. “Oh, sweet. I just bought mine off the err- Diagon Alley. That place. My mom insisted on buying me this one, and some sort of wand. The guy was mental.”

Unfortunately for Wilbur, the boy’s attention now hoists daggers at Techno, and like a predator against a predator, rust brown eyes and piercingly verdant eyes clash, each as hostile as the other. His sense of smell is as acute as a great white shark, and so, it doesn’t take long for him to sniff out the bitter smell of buttercups; the boy’s feeling apprehensive but his nerves subsume it, so it’s not a fight he’s looking for, he just wants some space. Techno finds a subset of his heart resonate with him, and so, he shifts aside.

“Oh, erm. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Rope snaps in the form of overly aggressive words, and the black haired boy barks out, “Hey, what about me?” to which everyone just stared at, Wilbur barely even placating the boy. “You know- My robes are also just as cool, if not better.”

Silence rings, and the boy groans. “You guys are like - so lame. I’m the chosen one! You know? That guy? Zak? The guy who survived being almost killed by like- that really evil guy you can’t say the name of?”

Thankfully, Wilbur takes one for the team and promptly curbs his ego. “Who?”

Zak’s, the (sanctimonious) chosen one, countenance contorts into unprecedented vexation, and he pouts his lips and swells his cheeks up much like a chipmunk. It’s certainly not the most flattering thing to behold, but Techno discounts his infantile behaviour to being a child, and stares off.

“I’m like - super important.”

“Well, you’re not important enough to act like an utter fuckin’ knobhead.” Wilbur says in the most deadpanned voice that Techno has ever heard. Ruthless.

Zak meekly folds his arms. “There’s no need to be that rude. I’m not that up my own arse.”

“I hope so.”

The boats have embarked on it’s own, and not without crossed fingers, Techno hopes it’s been enchanted to move according to the most tumultuous and upset water currents.

Water crashes onto the bottom of the boat and jerks everyone upright, and Techno swears to Merlin that he saw a pair of cat ears root upright on top of the other pureblood’s flaxen hair. Perhaps it’s a bit too late to actually perceive things right, or he’s an Metamorphmagi, but most likely the former. 

Now closer and with less tension, it gives Techno the chance to fully examine his face. A silent covet presses his lips shut as if quietly biding his time; the predator lying in wait to ambush it’s prey. Like a king, it’s hard to not lower his head in the boy’s presence. Despite his countenance, he looks most at peace having his eyes enraptured by the castle ahead in it’s cobblestone glory. 

The other pureblood has freckles that looked like the night sky, and Orion rests lovingly below his lower eyelid. His sand coloured hair looks ethereal in the subfusc moonlight, lips slightly parted.

“Hey, Techno, d’you reckon we can reach the bloody castle before - like - the sun rises or..?”

The boy’s ears perk up like a cat (quite literally), and it disappears as quickly as his thin veneer of genuine intrigue, and Techno is starting to wonder if it’s a matter of his glasses or a careless vision trick.

“-Wait, his name is Techno? No offense, but that’s such a bad name.”

“Heeh? Why am I getting bullied now..”

Wilbur intersects with a polite and cordial comment. “Your name is proper shite, though.” Techno rolls his eyes and pushes up his glasses. How supportive.

“Shut up, Will-eye-am.” 

“It’s William, though I don’t suppose a swine would know how to pronounce names.” 

“A swine?” Techno makes an effort to sound somewhat offended, even though a smile was tugging on his lips. “Where’d you get that from?”

“Just a general feeling - you just kinda exude pig energies, you know? Like a lil’ piggy boy! A lil’ piggy that goes oink and rolls around in mud!”

“Heeh-!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> skeppy is the chosen one omegalul
> 
> \- dream is a metamorphmagus!! he can alter his appearances without much effort so i gave him fucking cat ears cat boy dream cat boy dream  
> \- apparating is teleporting, but not as fun or safe.  
> \- splinching occurs when a witch or wizard apparates or disapparates unsuccessfully, leaving part of their clothes or body behind in their former location.  
> \- the lake the first years have to cross is called the black / great lake. what a boring name


	3. with your effortlessness

“Anyways, what house do you think you’ll get into?” 

The boat trip lasted approximately several minutes too long - his legs are numb and quaking from the position it assumed before, and it’s a struggle to walk. The duo parted ways with the egomaniac and the rich kid amicably, or as amicably as a tiger and a rabbit can, and they followed the flock, towering over most of their peers with their gangly limbs, and into the castle grounds. Whence upon castle confines, Wilbur’s mesmiration with the wizarding world sailed across the world and back, awe taken by the enchanted grounds and the liberal pummeling of all Science, with Techno as his witness.

The castle's interior was nothing short of his expectations; the entrance hall was dazzling and ceilings stretched to the high heavens that made Wilbur look of average height. Techno could tell the age of the bricks from a simple glance, and tattered banners lined walls alongside jet black lanterns next to very exposed fire hazards. It was the pure caricature of fancy castles, and it'd be a lie to say he wasn't smitten by it's superannuated design. 

“Wait, so I don’t choose the house I go into? That’s dumb.” 

There were paintings, and Techno could’ve sworn he’d seen their eyes trail them, but brushed it off. What really rocked his socks off was the marble staircase, ascending above and beyond like a staircase to heaven. Merlin, was it all so beautiful. 

“If we could choose our houses, Hufflepuff would be a literal desert.” Hufflepuff left Techno’s mouth like it was potent poison, surreptitious and scalding. “Ain’t nobody gonna join that house.” 

“Isn’t that the - errr - yellow house?” Wilbur pauses. “My mom went to Hufflepuff, but I like keppel more; cyan-ish green, or blue, so, probably’ll aim for Ravenclaw.” 

“Hufflepuff suits you though.” 

“You just said Hufflepuff sucks.” 

Techno clicks his tongue. “That’s why you fit in it.” 

Wilbur paused, slowing down but not enough to lose himself in the crowd. “You’re a bloody wanker, I’ll tell you that.” 

“In the name of Merlin, Wilbur– swearing?” 

“Shut up, swine.” 

“I'm telling.” 

Techno looks away, noticing a lady perched atop the stair, venerable from the account of her wrinkly face. She peers down from below like an eagle and Techno identifies her high dignity by the way she held herself, hands folded neatly over her thighs; screamed totalitarian. The silky robe draped over her was a dark viridian that shimmered in the shaky lights, and a pointy hat. A giant pointy hat with long feathers that looked absolutely ridiculous but somehow solemn and regal on her. 

From behind, an exhausted Wilbur cries, “Why are there so many stairs? My feet hurt so much.” and with a drawn sigh, follows it up with “You'd think magic would make this a whole lot easier. You know, make elevators or something. So much for magic.” 

“If magic could make everything easier, we'd literally be deities–” 

He cuts himself at the very sight of her lofty glare. Her talons were primed and she’d be stoked to issue the boys a tough scolding if they didn't shut up right about now. 

“Actually, you know what? Let’s stay quiet.”

“Wait, why?- Oh.” Wilbur murmured. “Yeah, I agree. Let’s shut up.” 

It doesn’t slip her cognizance of the duo’s new found silence, and she lets the two take a breather as she averts her attention to the general flock.

Torch fire flickers like a tall pine tree in a storm and the rough cobble was smoothening the bottom of his priceless leather boot soles, but even through this he presses on for even the successful struggle. Dramatic flair aside, the march upwards the stairs was as treacherous and even more exhausting than the boat ride. It’s steep and every step up feels like a hike up another mountain.

The final boss perches herself high atop the stairs, looming and odd like an owl. She forgoes thick makeup for chapstick, and her grey hair was tucked under the brim of a feathered hat, appearing more austere and ascetic under mellow lights. As if musing, she looks upon the mass, and dismisses them with a clasp of her hands.

“Welcome to Hogwarts.” She ceremoniously announces.

“Now, in a few moments, you will pass through these doors and join your classmates, but before you can take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses.” 

“Bets on you going to Hufflepuff.” And Wilbur nudges him curtly in the ribcage.

“They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin.” 

Techno mouthed something inaudible, and Wilbur opted to crush his toes with his muddy heels, sullying both his lavish leather boots and his dignity. 

“Your house will be like your family. Your triumphs shall bring you points. Any rule breaking and you will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup.” 

The lady concludes her speech with a desultory, “The sorting ceremony shall begin momentarily.” and saunters off with doddery steps, her pointed hat bobbing up and down as she walked into the warm allure that was the dining hall. 

Like a silencing spell having been lifted when the tail of her cloak disappeared into the other room, a cry erupts from Techno. “Merlin, My boots, Wilbur-!”

“You were being a bitch, Techno.” Wilbur says.

“Whatever, I can just-” A careless chant of _scourgify_ left the kid’s lips, and in a matter of seconds, any blemishes before turned to a shimmer that would give any the impression it was fresh out the store. “-There.” 

Wilbur didn’t seem all that impressed by the spell, jabbing Techno with a curt, “Show off-” 

Unbeknownst to the brunette, the lady had trodden back, parchment in hand and mildly crossed. Techno pondered as to whether Wilbur’s penchant of being suddenly interrupted manifested from a hex of some sort, but left that thought to simmer for another time. A scroll of parchment came into contact with Wilbur’s head, tapping lightly, and like casting a spell, words ceased in its path and his head now hung low. 

She readjusted herself. “We’re ready for you now.” 

Techno has a baseline understanding on what’s to come but still raises an eyebrow for what exactly they have to prepare for. Do they dust the hat?

Red flowers hang low like a bell drop flower. It has no scent however, rather an acute feeling that stabs through him. Techno bookmarks the vivid feeling for another date; he’s not privy to any compendium of flowers unfortunately, and only Merlin knows where his suitcase is now. Techno sighs. His legilimency is as ostentatious as he is.

Judging by the collective confusion his indifferent face was divorced from, he infers that everyone else must be nervous or apprehensive.

“Follow me.” She huffs, and so they do. Like sheep to a shepherd, they clung religiously behind her every step, mousy yet eyes avarice for the sight behind the closed door, a salubrious greed to study the hall fosters and amalgamates with curiosity not even a saint could resist. Even Techno throws a glance in despite already knowing.

The dining hall is a feast for the eye; brick walls are dusted well in the candescent glow of flickering torches, and candles that float precariously above student’s heads to replicate the constellations far beyond this roof. Arranged from warm to cool colours, Gryffindor sits sinistrally while Slytherin perches itself close to the walls far on the right. Banners soar high and proud, each a different shade of the primary colours and ends frayed and dirty. It’s not too distant from a tavern, and it feels as welcoming as one with it’s interior. 

Saving the best for last, the ceiling. There’s a gradient of midnight blue mingling with the mellow candescent glow of candle flames, and the night’s sky above, the full moon hiding modestly behind puffs of clouds. The many stars enamoured all beneath, twinkling like they’re going out of fashion. If Techno had to define magic using a place, it’d be here.

They came to a merry halt where the beige tiles met rich mahogany, and the lady climbed up the stairs, commanding none to follow her up. They wait quietly, and she settles a four legged stool still and places a hat with creases and folds to resemble a shifty face.

It’s leer reminds him of an eccentric and capricious sorcerer who’d hex him into damnation without a second's notice, and it took away from the mystical aspect of it all. Wilbur seemed to share the same sentiments. His glare probes the centuries old hat with a two prong fork, and it’s more so an old moth eaten hat stored up in some dusty attic than it would be a magical heirloom, minus the makeshift face and all.

To every first year’s surprise, the hat began singing. 

_“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,_  
_But don’t judge on what you see,”_

The senior students seemed to cheer the hat on, though more so out of cruel amusement than genuine appreciation of it’s crooning. Why one would do this was completely lost on Techno, who much rather listen to nails on chalkboard than this.

_"I’ll eat myself if you can find_  
_A smarter hat than me.”_

It’s times like this that he wishes to violate every orthodox rule of etiquette and chant hexes to bring forth armageddon. It’s voice was comparable to that of a dying mutt, and though four sentences long, felt like a lifetime of misery. If not for being on par with the experience of being inaugurated into a house, he’d zap the bloody thing with a silencing spell.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.”

The scroll unravelled and extended, just barely missing the floor. Her eyes picked at it like a particularly distasteful meal, eyes narrowing at the very top of the list as her other free hand scrambled for the funny hat on the stool. 

“Ahmed, Zak.” 

It starts a game of Telephone that even Techno was included in. Whispers and muted conversations floods the hall like cold air, and like a hivemind, repeats the same and honest answer of, “It’s the boy who lived.” It’s like a demonic cult, and Techno steps closer to Wilbur, who seems as indifferent as he was.

Short, stubborn and a sweet smile, he revels in the attention though not in a piggish way. He’s docile, sweet and demure, and beyond the bouquet of intertwining emotions, smelled of spearmints. It’s like the whole exchange on the boat was a vivid dream he’d conjure out from Merlin’s ass. The boy fiddles with his robes but holds a lovely smile. Techno supposes everyone is nervous when encountering judgement, even the chosen one. 

The hat is comically oversized on the boy who lived and shadows him in it’s gangly brim, it’s many folds formed a makeshift mouth and eyes, and it began to talk, and within a dozen seconds or so announced a hearty Gryffindor. 

Eclipsed was the last syllable of Gryffindor with strident cheers, left erupting into joy that Techno would burn the whole of London down to stifle. It’s understandable, but they shouldn’t endeavour to find out what decibel could truly knock someone dead. Arms are raised high up and festive joy festers in the far left of the room. How endearing.

Another Gryffindor by the name of Finn was tossed to the red hounds, and a tanned boy with a white bandana to the Ravenclaws - whose cheers did not rupture anyone’s ears unlike a certain house.

Before he knew it, Techno was already being presented with the dusty old hat. Although Techno was somewhat used to being early, courtesy to his last name, he hadn’t expected to be tossed in the hat’s reins soon after the chosen one. Should he flare up his occlumency or let it pick at his grey matter - a dilemma left unanswered.

He took a seat in the stool as the hat was placed on his head. The hat sat, pondered, shades of blue and green flicker back and forth. A lifetime passes, and a moment longer would the feast be delayed by him but fortunately, the indecisive hat screams a hearty,

“RAVENCLAW!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha . you can clearly tell i got lazy rewriting this chapter . thank you ali again for keeping me motivated and actually writing !! you da real G . i think the next installation would be the last chapter we rewrite? i dunno. 
> 
> \- scourgify is a spell to just clean shit .  
> \- the flower techno senses are red columbines which symbolises being anxious and trepidatious  
> \- for those wondering: a6d is not apart of the trio and is replaced by finn!! :] (cause of drama between him and skeppy)
> 
> anyways love all of you bitches !! mwah mwah mwaaah!!


	4. we're greatful and so strangely comforted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this should be the last chapter we rewrite now!! pogchamp!! :]

The situation was now over, and it was his liberty to retreat to the blue table on stage right, to which his entrance was warmly welcomed with brief enthusiasm. It barely ruffles his feathers - everyone's cheers pale in comparison to the chosen one's, and he's content with a polite hello.

He sits next to the boy with a brilliant smile and tanned and rosy cheeks, who cheers with the ferocity of those accursed red hounds. Thin and buzzing with life, his bandaid littered face reflects his soul's disposition - loud and overtly friendly. The white bandana helps jog the boy's memory, and he places a name on him - Sapnap. He erupts into an obnoxious cheer again as a boy with a pair of white novel glasses, and Techno just narrowly dodges the tail of his bandana slapping his face.

The other guy shuffles past Techno and to the side of Sapnap, readjusting his circular glasses to press close to his eyes. "I'm betting three sickles on the next being a Hufflepuff." 

Obviously, there's some chemistry previously established that predated Techno's presence here. The eleven-year-old haughtily huffed, now interested in observing the upcoming first year. "I'll go with... Gryffindor." 

Techno now looked towards the boy who is walking up to stool, unintentionally participating without any of the threes' knowledge. The lady proclaims his name to be Halo, tall glasses and an academic mein, he looks too frail and subservient to even dare fan conflict, let alone start any. Obvious Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. Bold choice to have gone with Gryffindor. 

And George hits the green in a roulette - Halo is tossed to Gryffindor. Halo seems pleased with the result, gleefully trailing his path as he sauntered over to the table on the utmost right, then taking a seat next to the boy who lived. Techno watches as the boy with white-rimmed glasses begrudgingly parted ways with three glinting sickles, to which Sapnap swooped up with a smirk. 

He zones out as he hears first years get hastily sorted; the hat vocalising a few words and throwing them to different houses: an Illumina and a Niki to Hufflepuff, and a Harvey to Gryffindor. Houses would erupt into heart cheers, though volume and restraint differing harshly from left to right, with the right being more tamed and meek to the cacophonous cheers that tear any working eardrums. 

Next in line is Wilbur, and the two exchange a greedily glance, and the shillings in their pocket clink. Without a monetary motive, Techno prays that he ends up in Ravenclaw and not Hufflepuff.

"Bet that he's a Slytherin. 1 galleon," Sapnap mutters to his friend who studies Wilbur, and Techno could not dissent to a statement more than he does right now.

After a moment of hesitation, the boy replies. "He's a bloody Hufflepuff." 

Techno nods his head. Wilbur wasn't a very tactical man and was more polite than conspiratory, and his family shows a history of being sorted into Hufflepuff. Although his light-hearted remarks about Hufflepuff, it'd be a complete perjury to denounce the hard work they arduously invest into projects, staking both their soul and blood into everything to make it as perfect as can be.

To the dismay of both Techno and Sapnap, Wilbur was sorted into the house of the Loyal and Hardworking. Techno watched Wilbur walk towards the table, who all roared loudly in support of the sorting. He sits next to a bottle-blonde girl, who seems to warm up to him quickly. So much for loyalty.

"Taken, Clay."

What an interesting turn of events. The American expatriate sits static on the stool, gaze half-lidded and piercingly like a serpent. Usually, Techno would remain indifferent, but the family name was what took him by surprise.

The Taken family; British and loyal to the queen, the union jack flies high and mighty in their dominating presence and Techno's quite sure that most of them fill up political slots in both the Muggle and Wizarding World. Hence, it's a surprise they've conceived a progeny who was so overtly American. They've stakes in land, riches and power most salivate after, and the Takens are the type of people to have their cake and eat it too. 

With more consideration, the puzzle fits. Sitting at the boat, he looked like the absolute poster child for all rich kids, and the astute verdant eyes were a trademark of the family although the freckles threw him off. The younger was always reported to look like a robot, and a kind face with freckles and lovely green eyes did not scream mechanical. This was perhaps how he'd gotten an invite to Hogwarts.

Sapnap and George seemed to lie in wait, both golden coins resting on the table. It's like there's a spotlight cast on the Taken, and everyone watches with patience. A minute rolls round, and a verdict has not yet been reached, the usual boisterous hat now humming quietly. Techno frowned as he had expected a decisive Slytherin. A pureblood family with more wealth than one could spend in a lifetime - if that didn't scream Slytherin, Techno didn't know what did. 

Time trickles slowly through an hourglass. Whispers break out in the hall. _'It's a hatstall'_ , Techno hears echoed around the hall, _'He's a Slytherin, no doubt!'._ The boy seems nonchalant, but the flowers give his apprehension away, red low hanging flowers blossom across the silent hall.

The hat clicks it's tongue and breaks radio silence for the first time in five minutes.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Clay seems relieved but slightly disappointed and retires to the Slytherins, who slither to his side and part words of congratulations and accolades on being the first hatstall in a few decades. Clay responds with cursory niceties and whence upon they rescinded their grasp, waved to Sapnap and George, who enthusiastically greets back with wide smiles. It's a heart-touching sight, and it makes him miss Wilbur.

Before long, the sorting finally came to an end with no other unique experiences. 

With a piercing ring of silver hitting glass echoed throughout the dining hall, the hall was brought back to silence. Collective stares clamouring to the old man tucked behind his seat, asking for everyone's attention. Everything drew attention to the man, as he sat on a throne in the middle of the staff's table. The other adults seem to cease any humdrum as well, returning cutlery to the sides of their plate. It's _the_ Dumbledore.

"Your attention please." The lady from earlier calls out, and cues the old man's rise.

"Let the feast begin." 

A steady proclamation of nonplus arises from the more junior students, silver-white plates dance onto the tables alongside metal cutlery, croaky and shrill voices joyously praising the sudden manifestation of utensils. Techno turns his head down towards the table where now hearty feasts lay glimmering and in healthy portions. Goblets once empty now filled with liquid that threatens to overflow, and vegetables choked bowls full. Perfectly brown chicken drums sat in platters stacked high with an aroma so inviting a cascade of rumbling stomachs can be heard from all sides. The lovely scent of food overrides the hall's stale air, stimulating any glutton's appetite.

Techno stuffs some bread and chicken into the recesses of his mouth and is somehow more elegant and dignified than most in this room on the sole basis that he was still loosely using his fork. The duo beside him was already on their third drumlet, and they've licked their plates and fingers clean of any comestibles. They tear at the chicken like ravenous mutts, and bread disappears as quickly as it did appear. 

Techno looks over a hunched Ravenclaw's shoulder and spots his friend, wide faces orbiting around him like he's the sun, pecking at bread with a charming smile and few fits of giggles. His heart aches to join the fun, but alas, his erudite idiosyncrasy prevents him from rolling with the badgers.

Wraiths of the houses haunt the dining hall, and their appearances earn a few shrieks from the weak-hearted. No one faints, fortunately, but the screeches of bloody murder did definitely ruin the festive mood.

Hours upon hours later, they'd finish gorging themselves full. They'd clean plates, goblets and baskets, and the great feast concluded with a few parting words to the first years, instructing them to purchase more wizarding paraphernalia and more palaver so monotonous Techno tuned them out. 

Once the lady barked her final greeting, a mass exodus of teens and prepubescents commenced, Gryffindors taking the lead with Slytherins being last. The Ravenclaws shuffles briefly beside the Slytherins, allowing enough time for Techno to get a glance at Clay and Sapnap exchange items. A brief glint of gold catches his eyes and serves as evidence that a bet prior had been placed, and the gambler had snatched victory with his two wide eyes.

The exchange reminds him of something that had utterly evaded his mind, and Techno fruitlessly attempts to fish his gift to Wilbur out of his pockets, to which his fingers discover loose change amounting to two sickles and a crown pin; not exactly the two-way mirror he was expecting to find.

He disregards that to marvel at the stunning architecture of the castle walls. It stands tall enough to reach the high heavens, and it's magnolia walls framed priceless artworks depicting those from the victorian era and elegant glass lanterns with humming fire. The temperature was snug enough to hibernate in, and it reminds Techno of home. 

The guide to the Ravenclaw's nest is a scraggly blonde with droopy eyes named Phil, who stands beside the first year, and like an eagle, guides them under his wing with a warm smile, never condescending and expectedly amicable. 

According to the guide, they will have to descend the steps to the ground floor and then walk towards another tower, only to then ascend another long flight of steps. He'd derive more amusement with a one on one chat with a dementor than the long march he is soon to embark on. 

Many twists and turns later, and Techno feels his life seeping through his bones, his will to live now porous and weak. Exhaustion stalks his every aching muscle like an unforgivable curse, and Techno feels his relief hitch as the stout guide pushes open the door.

In his sleep-deprived stupor, the Ravenclaw common room seemed like a step into a nebulous dream. It's a circular room with wood beams supporting every foundation, and in it is a mess of scientific paraphernalia - telescopes, globes, statistics choke out the mahogany tables' surfaces with small teacups with dried candle wax. Torch flames are a muted blue, and lanterns illuminate it's remote corners, lazily glossing over only a small portion of the massive library.

The night's breeze cradles the boy like a dear mother and hums a soft lullaby. Mushroom lamps crackle with cool blue flames that dance around in the azure moonlight, convening with solemn darkness with only a warm accent of orange to compliment both. Techno perambulates in with no rush, imprinting his footprints onto the lunar themed rug under his heavy heels. Light falls upon him like a waterfall here, and it pools up in his hand.

"The girls' dormitory is that way," The teen paused, readjusting his prefect pin. "And the boys' dorms are over there. Your belongings have already been brought up so just head to your respective dorms and get a good night's rest."

With everyone too tired to even nod their heads, they disperse, and Techno is left in the dust and wholly dazed, fiddling with the heavy robes that now swallows him. Techno blinks and looks around. Open books coated in ink splotches litters every wooden surface in the room besides neglected quills and globes; a scholar's reverie.

Determined to make it to his room before he collapses, Techno drags himself across the library deck, hanging onto the white fence like his life depends on it, and unfortunately collides headfirst into someone's chest.

Techno looks up and identifies him as the prefect from earlier. "Hey, mate." The boy takes a step back to recover from the sudden and very unimpactful collision, voice hushed and cordial like a father's, and a whiff of yellow tulips can be smelled from his cheap clothes. "You can go to your dorms now."

It effectively bursts Techno out of his trance. "Oh- erm. Sorry."

An owl coos from somewhere. "It's no problem, dude. We're all pretty worn out - it's a long trip down from the great hall. If you'd like, I could escort you to your dorms."

Techno's too tired to properly articulate his thanks or affirmation, but Phil seems to perceive it nonetheless and smiles gently. Phil marches ahead with slow steps, and Techno follows suit, quiet creaking interrupting the tranquil night. Before long, he's fast asleep under a quilt blanket and the moonlight, with Sapnap and George playing cards quietly in the background so as to not disturb his rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey hey guys :] if dream is uncomfortable with his real name being used, please send me a clip at either @philzaur on ig or @studyinpinkza on twitter btw!! there's not much to elucidate in this chapter so yeah. thanks for the kind comments so far!! me and ali appreciate it so much!! <3


	5. and i wonder

“Are you sure we’re goin’ the right way?”

The Hufflepuff puffs his cloak up and sulks further into it like it’ll magic them to class any faster. A red orange sun rises past the horizon, and in a third of a pinky’s time, they’ll be extraordinarily late for classes. If Techno hadn’t known any better, he’d have guessed that the hallways had been rigged to run into a perpetual circle to make them late for classes. 

The morning had been pleasant. The weather looked pleasant and forecasted an equally sunny day, and the breeze roused him into lucidity. Whilst Wilbur convened with the piss Badgers, Techno had a dainty toast slobbered in butter, a heart sausage and a cup of earl grey. A step down from his usual breakfast, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. After that, he perused through the plethora of letters consigned to him by a dear snow owl, and then, sweating up a storm running through the halls in a nebulous state of confusion and a dire sense of urgency. If he had any plans for an undisturbed morning, it was surely defenestrated the moment Wilbur reared his head into his peripherals.

A defeated groan rumbles from a defeated Wilbur. “I sure hope we are.”

Misery festers upon them like they’re an open cut, and not without a solid reason. The professor was widely reputed to be as mean as a junkyard dog and bites hard like a snake, and god knows that showing up fashionably late would be an academic death sentence.

“We were literally here seconds ago- heh? This is a scam!”

“Can’t you locate a room or something with your stupid magic?”

“I- Maybe?- I dunno, man!”

The cobblestone walls that seemed imposing now mocked them. Techno feels his legs giving out and his perspiration slips from his forehead, and he’s considering just calling in late with the excuse of falling prey to an unfortunate affliction. It’s worked wonders before, and hopefully, enough to convince the miserable curmudgeon. Wilbur looks equally as exhausted as him, but less rich. The rims around his eyes are awfully dark, and Techno ponders if his Hufflepuff friend had even gotten a wee inch of sleep last night.

They run past a looming pillar and right in the hallway, whence upon there bumped into a taller man. Techno looks up, and his eyes lit up when he recognizes the fellow’s fair blonde hair and droopy eyes.

“Phil-!” Techno gasps in excitement. “Oh Merlin- we are in dire need of your assistance right now, Phil. Time is precious.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down, mate. What do you need help with?”

“Potions. Where.”

“So you’re searching for the potions classroom, right? Wait- How the fuck did you end up here? It’s across the entire campus, mate.”

Techno feels his sweat grow cold. “Fuck.”

His stomach churns, and he feels queasy and distraught. Techno doesn’t have any leverage - he’s a Ravenclaw and Wilbur’s a Hufflepuff. Not exactly green in any compartments that matter except for Techno’s affluence, but that’s about it. Techno attempts to seek solace in Wilbur, whose quiet musing is drowned under the mental image of red columbines. They’re both stressed and worried, and it reflects in their restless fidgeting.

Phil catches onto their maladies and proffers some help. “I can bring you guys there if you want.” Techno seizes the opportunity with a silent nod, and he lets Phil escort him to his destination once more.

Wilbur lets himself breathe again, and the flowers disperse.

“By the way, Techno, I’ve never got to ask this but why’s your hair pink?”

That takes the boy by surprise. “I dunno. ‘Was just born with it.”

“Does your mother have pink hair too?”

They’ve slowed their speed walking into a steady march. Techno’s malleable attention span is now entirely focused upon the conversation they’re having rather than their impending doom, and Wilbur seems to have forgotten their original plans too.

They pass by a corner, and Techno plays with a few locks of his hair. “Mhm. It’s hereditary.”

“Is it common for wizards to have like- unnatural hair colour? It’s cool, by the way.”

Phil butts in with a quiet tut. “It’s uncommon, but not entirely impossible. Purebloods usually have them.”

The conversation becomes light underwater, not because of particularly anyone’s fault, but due to the capricious mutt he deems his attention span, and lets himself fade into the background as Wilbur and Phil converse. He finds himself drawn to the scenery below the open arch. The sun is rising higher and higher by the minute, and out of a simplistic instinct, gauges the time. 9:45AM.

“Wait, γαμωτο, we’re late for lessons-!”

──────────── 

Zak flings himself down towards the lower levels of Hogwarts, running alongside Halo - one of his roommates - towards the direction of Potions. The class is infamous for having the world’s most ruthless and biased teacher, having a strong hatred towards Gryffindors that he wears as a gold medal. Taught by the head of the Slytherin house, this is a teacher Zak most certainly didn’t want to make a bad impression on.

And they’re already running late. 

“Hurry up, you muffin-head, we’re nearly there!” Halo brushes aside his disheveled brown hair, slick with sweat and holding a weary expression. The grand wooden door is open, but a thin man with sallow skin and a large hooked nose stands blocking the entrance. The man snivels with an obnoxious sense of self and poised in an even more self-righteous stance; arms placed above his thigh and head held high and mighty. His nose is right up his arse, and Zak could even smell it.

Dressed in flowing black robes which made him resemble an overgrown bat, he has shoulder-length, greasy black hair which framed his face in curtains. Zak would’ve told him to take a long needed bath if Halo didn’t platonically hold his wrist to prevent him from starting any trouble.

The long nosed man glares down at the pair with predacious eyes. His eyes are like deep dark tunnels, and his lips curled into a sincere frown.

“Well, if it isn’t _the_ Chosen one.” 

His voice is deep and his sneer is filled with malice. Being famous, Zak has dealt with weird (usually pureblood) crowds, and with just a glance, the professor looked just like another one from that dodgy crowd. He’s got a hell of a scary voice, and it sends proper shivers down Zak’s spine.

“Sorry sir- we got lost on the way down here,” Halo stumbles on his words, stammering and head hung low.

Like a puppy lost on the street, Halo tries to stand his ground but any spunk has dissipated under the man’s mean gaze, which the professor tosses aside to look funny at the two with his brown nosed face. That makes Zak’s blood boil and before he could voice his heated thoughts in a very clear and precise way, he was cut off by the man.

“20 points off Gryffindor.” The professor huffs before turning around to walk into the classroom, and the two rushed in with a scowl.

There are only two seats available, and disappointingly it was not next to each other. 

One open seat was next to that American boy Zak had met before on the boat, Clay. Or at least that’s what Zak thinks his name is anyways. He couldn’t forget the five excruciating minutes the boy spent with that hat for it stalled his time to eat. Green robes means that green snake house, and blonde hair and green eyes screams rich kid. For a Slytherin, he was awfully disinterested in his stuff, staring out of a window watching a bird peck at its babies. He was like a cat, paying no mind to the environment. 

The other boy was a gold and red Gryffindor, stout and busily scribbling down the long-winded garbage that left the professor’s mouth. Jet black hair and pale brown skin that stands out among the sea of white people; Zak remembers him as Harvey, the guy who lives in the dorm across from him.

Before Zak could sit next to the friendly Gryffindor, Halo had beat him to it, and so, he had to sit next to the Slytherin blonde. Sighing, he takes a seat next to Clay. He is spared a glance of acknowledgement by the boy before he promptly went back to not paying attention. To be fair, the birds outside were much more interesting than the whiteboard full of a recipe of a potion they were most likely going to never brew again. 

As soon as they are seated, roll call starts, and thanks to his lovely last name, he is up first. 

“Zak Ahmed, our new _celebrity_.”

Zak swallows. Just by the man’s tone he could tell how much the guy hated him. Unlike previous encounters he had with exceptionally rude people, this one felt threatening. Eyes glued tight to his face with a scorching glare.

“What would I get if I added powdered root of _asphodel_ to an infusion of _wormwood?_ ” 

It is barely above a whisper, and there is a sharp edge to it. His face already says, ‘ _I hate you_ ’, more than his poor attempts of passive-aggressiveness, but the tone just rubs it in more. The potions master manages to captivate the attention of the room like no other teacher that he has seen prior can, other than his own head of house. 

Zak felt a shiver go down his spine as he looked towards Halo for an answer, only to see that he’s in the same boat as him. Then he looks towards Clay, who seemed to be analyzing the professor, however his body seemed relaxed, however distaste was clearly growing. 

“Well, I don’t know.” Zak responded honestly with spunk.

The professor’s lips curled into a sneer, nose so far up his ass. “Let's try again, where would you look if I told you to find me a _bezoar?_ ”

Zak could hear some of the other Slytherins snickering as his face turns ever so slightly red. How is he supposed to know? He literally just learnt about magic a week ago, and they’re here taking the piss out of him for not remembering a bloody textbook. It’s not as if it was asked of him to read the textbook beforehand either. He would’ve done some homework beforehand if he knew he was going to be asked questions about the countless ingredients in his textbook. 

“I don’t know, sir,” Zak repeats, only for Snape’s reaction to the mirror. A cruel sneer on his face as his house seems to make a mick out of this. 

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Ahmed?”

Those words ring in his mind making his blood boil as he thinks of something to retort with. He wasn’t stupid, maybe at times a little slow at catching on to things and at other times a little to reckless, impulsive but he wasn’t stupid. 

“Well- thought you might close a book before coming here - wait, no. Shi- Shoot.” the words slips out of Zak’s mouth without even him realising or comprehending exactly what that meant, and the professor proceeds to give him the most uptight glare he has ever seen. 

“Has any of those books gotten you any bitches yet?”

“Language, Zak!”

A couple snickers from his house mates filled the room, he sees from the corner of his eyes that Halo is giving him a disapproving look, which he cheekily smiles back. 

The professor, however, is not pleased.

“For your information, Ahmed, _asphodel_ and _wormwood_ make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A _bezoar_ is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons.” The potions master snapped back, clearly annoyed at his retort. “5 point off gryffindor for that cheek of yours.”

The potions master then turns, getting back to the lesson. As they wrap up writing down the instructions to mix a simple potion to cure boils, they are next instructed to actually brew the potion with the person sitting next to them, and unfortunately for Zak, that happens to be Clay. 

Clay, still looking outside the window, seems quite disinterested in brewing and the sort. A few seconds pass and they’re still sitting with an awkward silence that hangs between them. Clay is clearly not even paying attention to his brewing stuff in front, but rather the professor.

“You’re Clay, right? We met at the boat ride yesterday night.” Zak said, trying to get the boy’s attention and to break the tension. “Oh, that rhymed.”

“Call me Dream,” 

“Okay, since we’re doing nicknames now, you have to call me Skeppy,” Zak replied, causing Dream to look at Skeppy with a puzzled look for a split second before going back to an unreadable expression. “My family calls me that ‘cause that’s what my mom says I called myself when I was, like, three.”

“Erm. Deal.”

With that they both simultaneously agreed to go get the ingredients to get started.

──────────── 

“Fuck this,” Skeppy groaned as he tried for the 5th time to match the exact weight of the dried nettles. It was simply infuriating to do so, as it always just seemed to be a little off. “I’m just putting it in, who cares about a gram,”

Skeppy considers what he was really doing. If he was a gram off and it did truly matter, then it could be disastrous, but his recklessness and impulsivity wins over, and he throws caution to the wind.

“Skeppy, no!” Dream frantically warned Zak as he carelessly slid the incorrect amount of dried nettle into the cauldron. 

Skeppy rolled his eyes, “Relax, dude! I know what I’m doing!”

Dream raised his eyebrows to question his statement, which is frankly insulting although he would be inclined to agree with Dream. He really didn’t know what he was doing, but fake it til you make it, right?

“What’s that supposed to mean!” 

“Nothing,” Dream replies, nonchalantly, with a smirk as he eyes the cauldron ever so slightly, clearly expecting something. And his guess would be right as the potion against Skeppy’s hopes promptly turned into a deep purple, with smoke coming out of. 

Skeppy leaned over to see into the cauldron properly, to see the results of his recklessness in detail, only to have the liquid start boiling over in front of his very eyes, melting their cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while the blob attempted to reach for Skeppy. 

His heart raced as the liquid inched closer and closer. It was almost like a cat that seemed to linger around you as if it was in control. Lavenders was the closest thing Skeppy could think of, lavenders that just seemed to bunch up into one blob. Frowning, he wondered why the brew had stopped, only to realise it was recoiling to pounce. He frantically put his arm up to try and stop it from getting to his face. 

Just as he thought he was a goner, Skeppy realised that there was no blob left at all, rather Dream with his wand out and a puff of smoke where the failed potion had previously been. The sting of the smoke was terrible, like spoiled milk, but it quickly dissipated into a pleasant aroma before disappearing completely. Skeppy breathed a sigh of relief for Dream’s spellwork because he did not want to know what would’ve happened if that thing was to reach him. 

“Okay, maybe you had a point,” he squeaked out in shame at the sight of their failed potion and the hole in the floor where it had been. 

Instead of a stern lecture that Skeppy was expecting, a peculiar sound came from beside him, causing Skeppy to look towards his partner, only to realise that he was… laughing? no wheezing at him. Skeppy could feel a knot in his stomach dissolve as he saw how he was taking it. And soon he couldn’t help but also have a smile on his face. 

“That,” Dream claimed, “That was comically good timing.” 

Grinning, Skeppy agreed. It was a comical timing at best and an unfortunate coincidence (if you could call the potion being a mess because Skeppy made a mistake a coincidence). It was to be noted that Dream looked much more differently when he was laughing, rather than an emotionless unreadable snake he seemed more like a likeable pet dog that he might have around. His laugh was rather weird and quirky too. 

However both boy’s fun would not last long as the professor came along. A look of malice and disgust on his face. The two boys ceased there laughing immediately after noticing the potions master looming over them. 

“Idiots!” snarled Snape, “I suppose you added too much dried nettles, detention Ahmed and another 5 points from Gryffindor,” 

This was so unfair as Dream seemed to get off with no punishment. Skeppy opened his mouth to argue, but then caught Halo’s eyes. The message was clear as day: _Don't push it._ He bit his lower lip trying to prevent anything from slipping, he didn’t want to lose more points for his house than he already has.

However, Dream seemed less concerned about point loss and detention, and was staring down the teacher in front of them. His expression was unreadable as ever, but the distaste in his eyes was burning with venomous intent. It was funny how fast Dream could change in the last couple of seconds, going from laughing with him to staring down the teacher. 

“I expected better from you Mr.Taken,”

If Dream had bared his fangs at the professor, there'd be no doubt that he'd spit pure venom at him. Skeppy had known Dream for maybe an hour or two at best, but he knew he would’ve been dead if he was on the other side of that basilisk's glare. The potions masters words must have bitten deep into Dream’s soul to make him glare like that. 

The professor seemed to glare back at Dream, and a stand-still commenced. It was just a matter of time until one looked away, but courtesy of the house both were in, it was unlikely either would back down. He was just glad that it wasn’t him behind either of the two’s stares. As much as he prided himself in being brave, he was sure he would’ve backed down by now. 

It seemed in the end the potions master won as Dream looked away, burning hatred still present. 

“Class dismissed.” 

Skeppy watched as Dream shoved his stuff into his bag, minding him barely any mind. The pure anger in Dream’s eyes was scary enough, but how Dream seemed so calm on the outside scared him more. He was sure he saw Dream’s hair become a slight reddish tone as he stormed out the room, with the words _“I’ll show you better”_ mumbled under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, this is a change of pace as this is Ali here. You may notice a sharp contrast to the diction of the story in Skeppy's perspective, and that's completely intentional to try and give a difference in style with the perspective change, so feedback on that would be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Muffy's seriously upset that we didn't put wilbur in slytherin so we could solve our slytherin drought but here we are,,, hufflepuff wilbur,,,, sighhh,, also here's the explanation
> 
> \- γαμωτο is greek for "fuck". at least i think. and yes. techno swore in another language.  
> \- a woodworm is a potion ingredient  
> \- a good bit of snape's dialogue is from the books themselves  
> \- skeppy does not mean bitches in a sexual way. i do not intend to sexualise children /srs  
> \- muffy was the sole person responsible for that "bitches" line which is comedic genius but admittedly a little weird for a eleven year old to say, we ended up flipping a coin on it  
> \- we know that the measuring system in the wizarding world is imperial but we can all agree the imperial system is so gross yuck  
> 


	6. are you puttin' us under?

Before Techno’s fully aware of it, it’s 31st October, 1991.

Autumn wind blows, and soon will be subsumed by snow. Leaves turn from a healthy green to the palette of ember, and in it’s shadows lurks Lady Winter. The months have been kind to Techno - requiring more friendships, revising spells he’s learnt when he was just a month older than seven, and hanging out with Wilbur and Phil in his time off. There were a few hiccups here and there, but overall, he wouldn’t say it’s his worst year.

In betwixt classes and casual interactions among his friends, Hallowe’en was on a steady approach, and by the time Techno had even noticed it, it came rapping on his door. An announcement was made in the early wake of the morning sun, and Techno had brushed it off to go alongside Phil to crash Wilbur’s table, and now stuck in the glowing array of food and the gnawing claws of his late assignments weighing upon his shoulders, he’d so desperately wished he’d spared the notice with a single glance.

Techno sits with a brimming disinterest in the activity. Usually, the dining hall was free of Hallowe’en memorabilia even as the celebration creeps close, but today, instead of the candles that levitated high in the air, there was a cacophony of carved pumpkins, and other unoriginal decor. In other words, desecrated by pumpkins and meretricious Hallowe’en galore. For Merlin’s sake, even the confectionaries aligned with the bloody theme. 

In between the flickering mellow blossom, Techno pecks away at an apple besides Phil whose chugging away at apple juice while others cheered him on. Not exactly how he planned for his Thursday night, but oh well. Not like he’d spend it any different.

Lucky for him, he’ll soon find his time occupied by an extemporaneous and deliciously dramatic entrance of Professor Quirrel. 

Whiter than a vengeful wight, the professor is sickened to the core, countenanced creased like a kicked mutt that hollers and whimpers pitifully. If it weren’t for the undying cognizance of his state of living, Techno would’ve assumed it was a new addition to the house ghosts that had slipped from Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington’s gaggle of intangible undeads.

There is no life when he regales a most sinister report of, “There’s a troll! There’s a troll in the dungeon!”, and comically falls flat upon his face, though there is no mirth to derive from the situation. In an instant, a deathly fetid miasma permeates through the dining room which Techno could only hazard a guess as to being unadulterated, simplistic and candid fear. Fear that courses through the veins of the prefect now turned to stone as if having gazed upon Medusa, and fear that leaves every hair on his body standing still and he himself in bated breath.

Unlike the two Ravenclaws, everyone else hadn’t found themselves frozen in their seats, and they erupt into caterwauls of immediate distress, some scrambling desperately for the door in an extempore attempt to escape what seemed to be an impending doom.

Techno could barely recount the events that happen next because he’s escorted straight out the door by Phil, who’s broad hand grips tightly onto his wrist. The screaming has stopped, but the fog is no better. It muddles his thoughts and flips every table upside down. A gratuitous adrenaline rush subsumes every sense and renders it blunt and dull, and the only thing his haze filled mind truly knew what to do was to stim with his crown pin. 

Dumbledore says something but the only thing Techno’s brain is registering is Phil; his anchor, and he lifts and ushers him away into the direction of their dorms.

Past the point in his memory and it's just fog. Phil’s not next to him anymore and he’s tailing Zak, who's looking like a man on a mission and detouring to the bathrooms. Though going unsaid, Techno had always enjoyed his company with the boy, and so he wanted to ensure that his friend wasn’t maimed or looking for trouble in the midst of a troll breach.

From afar, he watches Zak pause outside the boys restroom, bold lightning illuminating his terror filled face as wood planks could be heard collapsing onto the floor, and it was then that Techno knew that his idle pace would result in the unfortunate death of someone.

With haste, he wills whatever energy boost that long neglected chocolate bar he had eaten had provided and dashes like a mad dog to Zak’s side, and inside a now destroyed bathroom, he finds a massive troll, warts bulging up from his pale blue skin and an saggy and a particularly unintelligent look on his face, and underneath the debris of broken cubicles lay a cowering Gryffindor, adopting a futile stance to protect his face.

“Finn, dude, fuckin’ move!”

The boy, Finn, crawls under another cubicle as the troll’s club comes crashing down on him which just narrowly misses his toes. Techno’s at a loss for words, and stress has paralyzed him to the point his arms stiffened around his wand. Techno wishes for something, just anything, to incapacitate this troll, be it a more capable teacher, a meteorite or Merlin’s wrath.

Techno stands still and contemplates. If he fucks up casting a spell, he’d be responsible for the loss of an innocent life, and if he doesn’t do anything, he’ll die regardless-

“Techno, just please, help. Do something, anything!”

More wood debris rains down upon the wet bathroom floor, decapitated sinks spraying water down like a fountain, awfully reminiscent of the downpour that now drenched Techno’s senses in blind irrationality. Even his legilimency isn’t even cooperating with him now.

“I- err- oh, γαμωτο. Erm. _Depulso!_ ”

With a single incantation and a wand, the troll flung across the room like a stuffed toy, and a tremendous crash could be heard, though not yet fully neutralising the target. The troll gets up with a permanent scowl that’ll leave it with more wrinkles for years to come. It scratches at it’s hairy cheek and bellows, swinging a club haphazardly down on anything - sinks, toilets, and even the debris. 

It seems Techno’s poor attempt at trying to debilitate the troll hadn’t sated Zak’s wishes, and he charges in and in a reckless and precarious move, grabs onto the head of the troll’s club, and climbs atop it’s shoulders as it swings upwards. Usually, Techno found the tall ceilings daunting, but thank heavens for it now.

And in a most jejune fashion, Zak sticks his wand up the troll’s nostril. “Fuck you, bitch boy!”

The troll doesn’t seem at all pleased with his new accessory and takes to it in violent shakes, Zak being the unfortunate bull rider of the troll’s newly founded interest in radeo. It tosses, shakes, and viciously spins round, and using it’s miniscule brain, realises he could just pick the boy up, and so it does.

It lifts Zak high into the air by his feet like a doll, and Zak’s definitely not pleased with this.

“Techno, do something!”

Zak tucks his head up to miss the near swing of the troll’s club.

“What the hell am I supposed to do? Stab it?”

The club inches higher with every swing, and Techno feels like he’s just ingested nettles. It stings, and perspiration sits on his eyebrows. Stomach acids and metaphorical nettles do not mix well.

“Do something! You’re _the_ Techno Blade!”

“That doesn't mean I can just disappear a troll, man! The pressure!”

“I am literally going to die because you won't shut up! Hurry!”

“I- Erm- _Wingardium Leviosa_!”

As the incantation left his lips, Techno wonders if his family could bail him out for third degree murder.

Finn glares at him, and Zak stammers to articulate his dismay. The club levitates out the very confused troll’s hand and up into the sky, and it’s rise is in tandem with the increase in Techno’s trepidation. Techno truly naught of a plan when he’d blurted out that accursed spell, and heavens know that he’ll be the sole catalyst for the tragic loss of two innocent lives.

The rough plank of wood dangles coincidentally above the troll’s head, and it falls upon it with a loud plonk.

Blinking, Techno couldn’t believe his luck. For it to have dropped upon the troll’s head was a bold stroke of luck that even the damsel in distress wouldn’t have had anticipated. The collision leaves the troll seeing stars, and it’s vice grip on Zak’s leg loosens.

Zak drops onto the floor with little to no injuries, and scrambles far away as the troll stumbles towards the two at the bathroom entrance, thunder in every step, and it inches closer, and closer, and closer. It seems that it wasn’t enough. It looks enraged, but after it’s slow drag of it’s callused feet, it rage neutralised into a tired trance, and soon enough, it’d fell on it’s side. The impact sends debris and dust everywhere and it paints both of them white.

Even with the troll limp against the floor, Techno’s fight or flight still sounds alarms, and his stance was still as stiff and rigid as it was before. That was insanely easy, and if it’s too good to be true, it is.

The paradigm of all Gryffindor students walks over cautiously, and pokes it on it’s bumpy head - no response. Zak pokes it again and the results remain the same. Finally, Zak stomps on its face and it doesn’t rise up to beat the ever living hell out of him.

The stars had aligned tonight, and the magnanimous Lady Luck had grown tender with Techno. They had fought and won against a monstrous troll.

“Wait- did we seriously just beat that thing?”

Techno dusts his cloak with pride. “It was all a part of my master plan.”

Zak squats down, and to sour up Techno’s triumphant mood, slowly wiggles his wand out of the troll’s nostril, and with a swift pull, unlodges it with momentous force. Mucus trails the tip of the wand, and Zak gags. “Oh god - ew! That’s so fucking gross!”

Finn interjects Zak’s disgust, and asks Techno, “Wait, hold on- did you kill the thing?”

“Nope. If I did, it’d be way more obvious.” Techno sardonically rolls his eyes. “There'd be blood everywhere.”

“Jesus christ.” 

Before Zak could chime in with his own thoughts, a stampede of clacking heels and boots came storming through the hallways, wrappings of prior dread was upon Techno’s door though now for an entirely different reason, and it wasn’t even his fault.

Professor Mcgonogall arrives in a state most flustered and unkempt and in tow a gaggle of wide-eyed professors, eyebrows raised and certainly most perplexed. The urge to raise his arms to surrender runs high, but that would just implicate Techno heavily.

“Oh my goodness.” She murmurs in cupped hands. “Explain yourselves! Both of you!”

Often praised for his intelligence, it truly shines bright as he tries to articulate even a coherent sentence, which leaves his tongue in garbage and stuttering. Oh, how his pride and joy shines brighter than a blown light bulb. Techno pulls a kicked dog’s expression, and hangs his head furtively.

Finn rescues them from their predicament. “Look, these two had nothing to do with it. It’s all entirely on me. I thought that I could handle the troll by myself and turns out, I was wrong. I’d be dead if they hadn’t come and rescued me.”

For some odd reason, Zak looks insanely touched and the cause is unclear. Whatever it was hadn’t pulled on any of Techno’s heartstrings, because it was true.

The venerable professor snaps at Finn. “Be that as it may, it was an extremely foolish thing for you to do. I would’ve expected more rational behaviour on your part, and I am very disappointed in you, mister Sterling. Five points will be deducted from Gryffindor for your serious lack of judgement.”

“And as for you two gentlemen, I just hope you realise how fortunate you are. Not many first year students could take on a fully grown mountain troll and live to tell the tale. Five points will be awarded to each of your respective houses.”

Two brilliant smiles brightens up the kids’ face, pressed lips but curved wide.

“For sheer dumb luck.”

And those two smiles quickly fade. As much as it was true, Techno felt her tone leaving a stinging slap on his pride and it quickly quelled any joy he’d derived from her earlier comments. It was rudely gratuitous to so haughtily discount their efforts, and Zak shared the same sentiments. His eyebrows furrowed low with quiet seething, and his fists were balled up and ready for another scuffle.

She bids adieu with the back of her velvet green cloak, and the other professors scurry off behind her like obedient puppies, and Zak reciprocates her departure with a tongue-in-cheek gesture - the middle finger. Classy, but too crass for Techno to do himself.

They stand in the ruins of a once functional restroom. Urinals, toilets and sinks were all still springing leaks, and the water just seeped in the tiled floor. Mirror fragments jam cork some of the sink pipes, with only a small fraction of the original mirror still hanging onto the wall for dear life. It truly was a sight to behold. The troll is still unconscious on the wet floor and frankly, Techno didn’t enjoy being around it’s presence, so he had to bid farewell.

Dusting his cloak, Techno says, “Welp- I think I’ve done everything I can here. Buh-bye, nerds.”

“Wait, I wanna follow too!”

Finn joins. “Me three!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i HATE MATH WHOEVER MADE IT GO PICK UP A FOOTBALL!! stupid dumb subject i hope u eat a stick!! anyways heres some explanations
> 
> \- i've made a slight edit for the greek swearing to γαμωτο as suggested by a reader, which means "fuck" but as an exclamation and not copulation. if you can tell me more greek swears i will make dream and techno say them <3  
> \- depulso is a charm which repulses entities away from it's casters  
> \- Wingardium Leviosa,,, makes things levitate. self explanatory.
> 
> wap for my exams boys please


End file.
